


Our Souls Return

by sithmarauder



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet, Fix-It, Gen, Ghosts, god grants us many things in this world and he does grant us ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithmarauder/pseuds/sithmarauder
Summary: They lower David Young into the ground and it’s sostrangehow much trouble they have pulling Hickey back out again.  John Irving frowns when he hears of it, and tells Sgt. Tozer not to make up stories.For the prompt: “Fix-it AU in which the ghost of the real Mr. Hickey tags along to protect his shipmates from the man who killed him.”  Precursor to a larger fic.
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey & John Irving, John Irving & Original Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Our Souls Return

**Author's Note:**

> A remarkable anon sent me a message on tumblr which said: “i was seized by an idea and i have no skill to write it and no friends who have seen the Terror so you get it instead! Fix It AU in which the ghost of the real Mr. Hickey tags along to protect his shipmates from the man who killed him. Just in little ways, where he can, but those on the ship remark that isn't it odd that Mr. Hickey is so unfortunate that all these things seem to be happening to him? One might think him cursed!” I wrote this immediately in response, and then started planning out a much longer, more detailed version. Still, I liked the ficlet a lot, so I thought I would cross-post it from my tumblr to my AO3, too, with some minor edits 🖤

They lower David Young into the ground and it’s so _strange_ how much trouble they have pulling Hickey back out again; so strange how the ground, which felt so solid and cold before, suddenly crumbles at the edges when they grasp and pull for leverage.John Irving frowns when he hears of it, and tells Sgt. Tozer not to make up stories.

The other men aren’t as fortunate as Young.They’re picked off one by one, their bodies mangled and bloodied and so horrific that John is not sure God would even be able to recognize them.His blood is still boiling at Manson’s disobedience, a poor cover for the fear that churns in his own gut as he looks at the covered corpse they’re trying to store away, when Hickey intervenes.He makes to leave—he cannot stand to look at them, cannot face the echo of his own words—when an almighty _crash_ has him hurrying back, blinking owlishly at where Hickey lies winded at the bottom of the ladder, Manson’s face as white as the ghosts he claims to believe in in the partial light of the lantern. 

Later, so much later, months that feel like years that crawl by like _centuries_ , John has a belly filled with meat, feels _full_ for the first time, feels _hope_ for the first time.He rushes back to the men he left behind, a smile on his face, but before he can draw too close he slows because there’s _something_ —

It’s a hand on his shoulder, it’s a desperate tug somewhere deep in his gut that something is _wrong_.The smile slips off his face and the wind picks up out of nowhere, howling something incomprehensible in his ear, and then Hickey is up, a whirl motion, but Irving, slowed by caution, by some strange little warning, has enough time to block the first strike, to throw Hickey off, and—

The guilt threatens to eat him alive as he watches Hickey bleed out at his feet.He tries, oh he _tries_ to staunch it because God begs compassion from His children, begs mercy, but the little blade Hickey had fallen on when Irving grappled with him has pierced his traitorous heart.Beside him, Farr has already gone still.He does not know what to tell Lieutenant Little, what to tell the captain, but even as he shudders in horror the wind returns, a gentle thing against his cheek.It feels like forgiveness.It feels like benediction.It feels—

It feels like _vindication_.

He stands on shaky feet and makes the lonely trek back to the girl’s people.He’ll need their help to bring the bodies back.The place at his hip where the spyglass once hung feels empty, but he cannot regret the trade. _Does_ not.He will ask for their help once again, already thinks about the trinkets and tools from the camp they can trade for any aid offered: food, knowledge, _anything_ that can help the men survive in this godless place that these people call home.

The wind is heavy at his back.It feels companionable, comforting, the way Little’s hand on his shoulder does when John’s done something good, something right, or at least tried his best. 

He squares his shoulders, and he walks.

**Author's Note:**

> Original version can be found here on my tumblr 🖤
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated and loved! I would very much like to see how many people would be interested in reading the multi-chaptered fic I have planned for this prompt. So far it’s gen in my mind, and I am having _so_ much fun in the planning stages, but there’s room for suggestion, too. Cheers!


End file.
